


Before Sight, Before Speech

by QueenNeehola



Series: The Second Principle of Magic verse [5]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom Cyrus Albright, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Mental Link, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Soul Bond, Teasing, Titjobs, Touching, Verbal Humiliation, okay maybe there's a LITTLE plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola/pseuds/QueenNeehola
Summary: The silken fabric of the blindfold felt pleasant where it touched his skin, and that was the last thought Cyrus heard from him before Therion stifled his half of the soulbond and left his lover in silence.
Relationships: Cyrus Albright/Therion
Series: The Second Principle of Magic verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456558
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Before Sight, Before Speech

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to 12,000 words of self-indulgent, kinky cytheri porn!
> 
> this fic takes place after the final chapter of my fic [the second principle of magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054155/chapters/42667883) but before the epilogue, so please read that first so you have actual context for this fic.
> 
> a quick note before we begin: there is a small segment of this fic containing a flashback where therion isn't super into what they're doing in the bedroom. there's no explicit sexual content at that part (it veers very slightly towards dubcon at best, and only for a line or two) and it's over quickly and replaced by cyrus being sweet and comforting, but i thought it'd be best to forewarn!
> 
> now enjoy this far too extensive and detailed foray into what i'm into, apparently. (bottom cyrus. that's it, that's what i'm into.)

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Therion sighed as the thought that had been plaguing Cyrus since he had brought up the idea was finally put into words. He took his lips away from Cyrus’s neck long enough to reply, “Yes, I’m sure. Aren’t you?”

It was a redundant question and they both knew it. Cyrus’s intrigue and excitement at the prospect was plain enough for them both to recognise, as was the anticipatory arousal that buzzed softly at the corner of his mind. Therion butted his nose against Cyrus’s jaw, gently prompting. _I want to hear you say it._

“I-I am,” Cyrus stammered, “but you didn’t—”

“I didn’t like being on the receiving end,” Therion finished for him, snappy despite his best efforts. He took a breath to centre himself again, and leaned into Cyrus when he put an arm around him to soften his prickly thoughts. He let himself focus for a moment on Cyrus’s breaths, shallower than normal with suspense, and the scholar’s indulgent imagination running away with itself. He certainly had ideas about how he thought this was going to go. Therion smiled. “But I don’t think you’ll have that same problem, by the looks of things.”

Cyrus at least had the decency to blush.

When Therion produced the long strip of silk, Cyrus’s pulse quickened even further. Therion’s did too, always a matching set, his breath catching around an amused chuckle. He dangled the fabric between them for a moment before climbing back into his usual spot in Cyrus’s lap. The small kiss he pressed to Cyrus’s lips was chaste and gentle, but when he pulled away again the look in his eyes was utterly serious.

“Tell me if you don’t like it, okay?” he asked. “I’ll stop right away. At any point.”

He was fraught with a tension that only came from unpleasant familiarity, a frown pulling at his features. Cyrus cupped his cheek and kissed him again, longer and softer than the last one, encouraging laxness into his stiff frame. 

_It’ll be alright_ , the thought came to Therion in Cyrus’s voice. _I’ll tell you, I promise._

This time, when they parted, Therion reached up and tied the length of fabric firmly over Cyrus’s eyes.

* * *

He sat back between Cyrus’s knees to admire his handiwork. The makeshift blindfold was an indulgent shade of purple, and it lay bright against the framing dark tones of Cyrus’s loose hair, yet deep and rich compared to his pale skin. It looked... _good_.

“Thank you,” Cyrus said, and Therion laughed. He felt oddly relaxed despite the nerves that had quietly assailed him for days now, and knew it was because of Cyrus. 

Foolish, trusting, lovely Cyrus who would do anything for him, unquestioning and adoring. (Horny Cyrus, who secretly held desires of restraint and helplessness and being made a mess of.)

Therion shifted at that thought, a touch of warmth prickling at his skin. He ran a finger along the edge of the blindfold, but Cyrus didn’t flinch. Such was the nature of their soulbond, that it was second nature to intuit one another’s actions by now.

But therein lay the problem. After all, what was the use of a blindfold if one could still see through their soul?

Therion unbuttoned Cyrus’s shirt and removed it, flinging it somewhere behind him - _hey_ , Cyrus thought indignantly - and Cyrus lay back without being asked, resting his arms on the pillow above his head. They’d agreed beforehand that he’d have his arms tied but his legs free, and Therion went about that now, shuffling on and off the bed to secure his wrists to the headboard with a couple more loops of fabric. 

It was forever a strange feeling, being observed but not watched. He was used to Cyrus vaguely knowing what he was doing when they weren’t together, but having that sense of distant awareness while they were in the same room was something new. Cyrus’s head followed Therion as he moved, led by sound and bond, and that in itself was as unsettling as it was endearing.

“How does it feel?” Therion asked as he finished tying the last restraint. 

Cyrus knew he didn’t really mean the knots. He tugged at them anyway, a small pleased noise leaving him when he found himself securely fastened. “The bonds feel wonderful, dearest,” and Therion heard the awful joke coming before Cyrus even thought it, _all of them._

“Har har.” Therion rolled his eyes, knowing Cyrus would still see it.

* * *

Now it was Therion’s turn to ask Cyrus if he was sure, perched on his hips and gently rocking back and forth. There were no more preparations to make - aside from the obvious ones - and the nerves had again settled fluttery around the lining of his gut. He pressed light fingertips into the soft give of Cyrus’s stomach, worrying at his lip as he wove the question into Cyrus’s thoughts.

“I’m sure, Therion,” Cyrus answered, his voice resolute and his emotions gently encouraging.

Therion spoke up in response, emboldened by the sound of his lover’s voice, “Y-You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”

“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.” The promise remained unspoken, but Therion heard it loud and clear.

“...Okay.” He stopped his anxious kneading and instead raised up onto his knees, looming over Cyrus’s body. He braced a hand on either side of Cyrus’s head, then leaned down to nudge their foreheads together. A shaky breath left him as his eyes fell closed to match the blackness that Cyrus could see. 

The silken fabric of the blindfold felt pleasant where it touched his skin, and that was the last thought Cyrus heard from him before Therion stifled his half of the soulbond and left his lover in silence.

* * *

It wasn’t a new development. They had been soulbonded long enough to have learned how to do certain things. 

Sharing thoughts, feelings and images had been the first thing, coming first in uncontrolled bursts and still a constant murmur in the back of their minds all these months later. But they had grown used to the shared stream of consciousness as one grows used to the sound of birdsong or the ticking of a clock, and they had worked out how to differentiate their own thoughts from their partner’s, or put emphasis on certain emotions or ideas to ensure they’d be heard over the buzz of a doubly busy mind.

The second, just as important thing they learned was how to quiet the bond. As wonderfully, easily intimate as it was to have access to your lover’s thoughts and feelings at all times, there were some occasions in which it wasn’t exactly handy. Bathroom breaks, for instance. Those were awkward. Things like shopping for secret gifts for one another or reading different books simultaneously became nigh on impossible. 

While Cyrus continued to systematically empty the Atlasdam library in his research efforts, Therion took a more practical approach. He poked and prodded at the soulbond in a variety of different ways, casting his mind and heart in every direction he could think of - or _feel_ \- and spending hours lost in his own ruminations. If he could attribute magic to emotions to physical feelings, he thought - like fire to comfort to warmth, and light to love to ticklishness - then surely there must be a way to go in the opposite direction, to muffle things for a while, if not shut them off altogether.

Eventually, something clicked. He didn’t know what, but that was par for the course; neither of them knew much about the soulbond as a whole, despite living with it (and Cyrus’s fervent attempts to draft an academic paper on the subject). 

Nevertheless, it happened. Slowly and quietly at first, so much that neither of them really noticed it until Therion realised he hadn’t been privy to Cyrus’s annoyingly thorough hand-washing routine for three days. The thought passed between them automatically, and he felt Cyrus’s indignation at taking care of his hygiene being referred to as _annoying_ quickly quash under the weight of him coming to the same quiet conclusion.

They’d done it. _Therion_ had done it. The flux of the soulbond could be controlled at will.

(But Therion still heard Cyrus barrelling down the stairs and into the sitting room to kiss his clever little runelord long before the scholar took a single step.)

From that, because they were both infinitely curious - about the soulbond _and_ about each other - it naturally escalated. If they could muffle one another’s unwanted thoughts, then couldn’t they silence them altogether? If not from both sides (since Cyrus was admittedly not as skilled in such intangibly intuitive ideas as Therion was) then at least from one?

 _Why?_ The question flickered to life in Therion’s head immediately.

The answer came just as quickly despite Cyrus’s best attempts to hide it, his ears turning red as Therion was assailed with images of himself, tied up and blind and vulnerable, and Cyrus touching him in ways he clearly very badly wanted to. Imaginary-Therion arched up, shocked, as Cyrus rubbed a hand over an obvious bulge in his pants, and now Therion’s ears were red too.

“Oh,” he said.

* * *

It should have worked, in theory.

Cyrus couldn’t deny he was into the idea of Therion being so tangibly submissive. It was nice, sharing a deeper level of intimacy during sex because of the soulbond, passing feelings back and forth and sharing in each other’s pleasure; and yet. And yet Cyrus wanted to be able to touch Therion and have him not expect it, to have him gasp and tremble and not know where the next throb of pleasure would hit him. He wanted to bring his love slowly to the peak of satisfaction and be able to feel every moment of it, while Therion could do nothing but entrust himself to Cyrus, utterly helpless and open.

And entrust him he did, despite the anxiety jittering his legs that Cyrus tried to shoo away with soft sweeps of hands up his thighs, tracing featherlight fingers along the faded lines of a few of his scars. The blindfold went around Therion’s eyes, and the restraints went around his wrists, and Cyrus kissed him, and Therion lowered the gate between them—

It should have worked, in theory. In practice, it _did_.

“Can you hear me?” Cyrus asked, and Therion flinched. “Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

It was quiet. It was so quiet. Without Cyrus’s busy mind humming softly in the background, without his thoughts present to weave between Therion’s, without the gentle and stabilising undercurrent of his magic...Therion felt empty. Alone.

He shook his head.

Fear amplified his thoughts, turning the unsettling silence deafening with the sick realisation that yes, he _was_ afraid of this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

_Stop,_ he thought, but of course Cyrus couldn’t hear, and suddenly his voice - his real voice - wouldn’t come to him, like it was gone along with everything else - along with Cyrus. Therion felt like he was screaming into a canyon, into an _abyss_ , and hearing nothing but his own frightened voice echo back until that, too, was swallowed by the inky, all-consuming blackness that was coming for him. 

He felt the distinct turbulence of the ground lurching and disappearing beneath him; familiar nightmares taking shape inside his quiet, lonely mind.

It had worked. But he _hated_ it.

He swallowed hard—tugged at his bindings—trapped— _scared_ — ** _alone_** —his most precious thing, stolen from him—Cyrus—

“Therion?”

He jerked as Cyrus stroked through his hair, but not in the way either of them had wanted. Voice struggling and croaky, he managed “C-Cyrus, I, I can’t—”

The mattress shifted, and the knots around his wrists loosened instantly, and Therion ripped the blindfold from his face and threw himself into Cyrus’s waiting arms. 

For a moment he still couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t _feel_ anything, and a cold terror shot through him at the thought that he’d made a mistake, that he’d lost his connection with Cyrus forever—

“It’s alright,” Cyrus said, cradling Therion’s head against his shoulder, _Can you hear me now?_

Therion sobbed with relief, _Yes, yes, yes, please don’t make me do that again—don’t leave me alone—_

“Never,” Cyrus soothed, and _I’m here,_ and “You’re safe,” and, worst of all, _I’m sorry_ , as Therion clung on hard enough to bruise.

* * *

They hadn’t tried it again. They hadn’t spoken of it again, hadn’t even thought of it again until they’d been kissing in bed one evening. Therion had been sprawled comfortably atop Cyrus and slowly sliding his hands further and further beneath his sleepshirt, and his vision had flickered black with the ghost of a grip on his wrists, and the feeling of quietness that came with it had frightened him until he noticed it wasn’t coming from him at all.

Cyrus was flushed when Therion looked at him, and not entirely from the way Therion had been thumbing at his nipples.

“I, I’m sorry, I just thought,” he babbled, scrambling to sit up, “that perhaps, we could— I’m sorry, I know you didn’t like it, but I can’t help thinking that…”

He trailed off, looking away and folding his hands in his lap. Therion took them, holding them gently as he leaned into Cyrus and nosed at his cheek, nudging him to speak his mind.

Cyrus took a breath like he was steeling himself. “That...That _I_ might enjoy it.”

With his admission came a slew of imagery, of Cyrus being the one tied up and spread wide for Therion’s use, writhing and bucking with surprised pleasure at every unforeseen touch.

Therion couldn’t help but let out a tiny, breathless, “Oh.”

“If you don’t want to, I completely understand,” Cyrus rattled on, and something like a curtain came down over the fantasies, partially obscuring them with a vibrant and blaring embarrassment and the prickle of Cyrus’s anxiety that always left a sharp, unpleasant taste in Therion’s mouth. “I was hesitant to even bring it up, but I suppose it was inevitable that you’d find out one way or—”

Therion hushed him with a squeeze of his hands and a firm kiss, breathing calm into him. He found that his own nervousness had left him, that if it wasn’t him being left silent and helpless then he was actually quite into the idea of...of—

 _Of using me_ , Cyrus finished for him, and their eyes locked. Cyrus’s pupils were blown almost comically wide, his blush from before now settled into a heated, deliberate thing across his collarbones. _I’m yours, Therion. You can do whatever you want to me._

“Gods, Cyrus.” It came out like a groan, Therion butting his face into Cyrus’s shoulder to hide his own red cheeks, and to get away from the intense look in Cyrus’s eyes. “That’s so… Are you sure?” 

When he tilted his head to look at Cyrus again, he could see his own shy expression reflected back at him through their bond, and he knew that Cyrus thought it sweet. He also knew Cyrus could sense his interest in the idea.

“I am,” Cyrus answered. “And you?” _Just say the word._

“I...I…” Therion tucked his face into Cyrus’s neck again, squeezing his eyes closed hard enough to make a rainbow of colours explode behind them. _I want to try,_ he thought, small and quiet but—always—loud enough for Cyrus to hear. 

Cyrus shifted beneath him, wriggling a hand free from where Therion still held them to cup his cheek instead, forcing him gently out of his hiding spot to brush their noses together. He had a silly, fond grin that Therion couldn’t help but soften at, but he still feigned a pout and huffed, “How in the Twelve Gods did you even manage to keep that secret for so long?”

Cyrus’s smile just widened, and Therion’s chest swelled. “I’ve been practising.”

* * *

_Did it work?_

Therion sat to Cyrus’s side, stroking through his hair gently. Cyrus sighed softly at the touch but said nothing more, and Therion murmured, “I guess so.”

“Hm?” Cyrus’s head tilted towards Therion at the sound of his voice. Therion felt his tiny flutter of confusion, but it was almost lost against the backdrop of obvious anticipation, and he smiled, silently thankful that Cyrus was unaware of the smug sense of power budding inside him.

“Nothing, Cy,” he answered, moving his touch down along Cyrus’s cheek, then his jaw, then across his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I’m guessing you can’t hear me?”

“Not a thing,” Cyrus confirmed. “I hope you’re only thinking nice things about me.”

Therion laughed and leaned in to kiss Cyrus’s forehead. It was warm. “Of course.” _I’m going to fuck you until your throat is raw from screaming, and you have no idea._ “Is it...okay? Not weird?”

“It is a little strange, suddenly having no one in my head but myself. But I am rather excited about being at your mercy.” He was; Therion could feel him reacting to his own words, his breath catching in both their throats as one. “I assume you can still hear me?”

“Yeah. You’re an open book.”

“Aren’t I always?” Cyrus asked, smiling, and Therion just had to kiss him. He climbed atop Cyrus where he lay prone on the bed, straddling him and leaning close to slot their mouths together. Cyrus made a soft sound of surprise - Gods, this was good _already_ and they’d barely begun - but kissed back as enthusiastically as he could while being restrained and pinned down. Their tongues slid together in an easy, familiar dance, and when they parted it was only for breath so they could kiss once more, slower this time, with Cyrus drawing Therion’s bottom lip between his teeth in that way he always did to gently suck at the same flesh Therion had been nervously biting only minutes before.

The second time they drew apart, Therion blinked his eyes open slowly, settling down onto Cyrus’s chest. He regarded his bound lover lazily, feeling the rhythmic thump of Cyrus’s heart both through his skin and through his half of their bond, the quickening tempo of it tinged with apprehensive excitement. Therion’s own heart swelled with an almost unbearable fondness that Cyrus definitely would have commented on, had he been aware of it.

“Therion?”

“I’m here,” Therion said immediately, voice soft as he pressed a kiss to Cyrus’s chest (and _oh_ , he _liked_ saying that), “I’m here, Cy.”

Cyrus hummed at the pleasant contact. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Therion responded automatically. There had been a time when he’d been too shy to say it aloud, and there were still some days when it was too much, too bright; when Cyrus looked at him with such undisguised adoration it made him want to sink into the floor and never come out. Now, though, with his thoughts unable to talk for him, he was forced to voice it whether he wanted to or not, and he was surprised at how easy it had been.

Cyrus said, “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me.”

 _Anything for you,_ Therion thought, a blush taking to his cheeks at how instinctively the response had come to him. But of course Cyrus couldn’t hear, and there was no way he was saying that one out loud, and so instead he just braced his hands on Cyrus’s chest and pushed himself upright again. 

He fixed a haughty sneer on his face, hoping the intent carried through his voice as he said, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do to you yet.”

Cyrus’s arousal stirred at that, very clearly reacting to the implication of things being done _to_ him rather than _with_ him as he had said. That had Therion’s arousal piquing too: the idea of the respectable scholar desiring to be deflowered by the thief he had all but picked up off the streets. (Well, the deflowering had already happened, but for the purpose of this particular fantasy, Therion was willing to play along.)

“Wh-What,” Cyrus said, the stammer in his voice and his pulse both equally delicious, “What _are_ you going to do to me?”

It was at that moment that Therion realised he hadn’t come up with a plan. He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far, honestly. Cyrus had been so unsure at first of bringing him into a situation like the one that had caused him to panic before, even though their roles were now reversed. He had half expected to have it called off altogether, for Cyrus’s concern to win out over his lust, and that they’d spend the night cuddling on the sofa with Cyrus slowly reading Therion into a sleepy daze.

Instead, they were spending the night with Cyrus blindfolded and tied to their bed, and Therion didn’t really know what to do about that.

“Therion?” _There_ was that patented Cyrus Albright concern, gentle and careful, and Therion realised he had stopped still, his hands still resting on the rise and fall of Cyrus’s chest. “Are you—”

Therion stopped his question before he could finish it, quickly sliding his hands to either side of Cyrus’s chest to pinch his nipples. Cyrus made a very fetching noise and shifted beneath him in response, and the worry in his mind was lost to a lightning bolt of pleasure.

“I was thinking about it,” Therion lied, but what Cyrus didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. But now he _was_ thinking about it, and he let his tongue loosen, speaking his thoughts aloud without restraint. “I guess I got lost in thought, thinking about all the things I could do to you. I could—” Another pinch, and Cyrus squirmed. “—Ride you, use you as my own personal sex toy. Or—” Pinch; Cyrus tugging at his restraints. “—Shove my cock down your throat. I know you get off on choking on it. I could come on your face and just leave you like that, all dolled up and pretty.” He pinched harder. Cyrus openly gasped, balling his hands into fists. “Or I could just do this all night and see if you can come just from having your nipples played with.” He dragged his thumbs over the reddened, hard nubs and Cyrus whimpered. He was hot beneath Therion, fire searing through both their veins. “Probably. You’ve always been a slut for me, haven’t you, Cyrus?”

For a brief, panicked moment, Therion thought that might have been too much, because he felt Cyrus go blank. His thoughts seemed to pop like a balloon, a vast nothingness after the cacophony of obscenities that had filled his mind mere seconds before.

But it barely lasted the length of one of his shallow breaths, and then Therion was almost knocked sideways with the force of want that suddenly burst forth from him. Visions of Cyrus on his knees, on his back with legs spread painfully wide, on his stomach with a hand forcing his head into a pillow; his cheeks red and his mouth slack; tears dripping from his eyes with every slam of Therion’s cock into the deepest parts of him.

Therion’s breath left him, a shudder running the length of his spine when he felt Cyrus move again underneath him, felt his cock prodding for attention through the fabric of his pants. “G-Gods, Therion, I—” Cyrus stuttered, head bent to one side, eyebrows knitted together above the blindfold.

“What is it?” Therion teased, but the rough edge to his own voice was telling enough that Cyrus didn’t need access to his mind to know what he was feeling. “Is there something you want?”

“ _Yes_ ,” came the quick, desperate reply, and another futile pull at his bonds. “ _Please_ , I—I want—Therion, I _need_ —I need you to fuck me.”

Therion near enough _growled_ , his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he let himself bask in the fantasy of being balls-deep in a helpless, tied-up Cyrus who couldn’t touch him, couldn’t even _see_ him, couldn’t hear how close he already was to losing control. Soon, though, that would be a reality, and that had Therion forcing himself to focus again. 

Cyrus’s chest heaved with unconcealed want, and Therion took his nipples between his fingers again, gently rolling them back and forth and delighting in the soft whimpers that left Cyrus’s lips.

He repeated, “You want me to fuck you? You _need_ my cock that bad?” He had to bite his lip when Cyrus _nodded_ , head bobbing enthusiastically. _Cute._ “You really are a slut.”

Again, he felt Cyrus react to that word, felt his mind buzz wildly with an equal helping of shame and arousal. This time though, he apparently had the wherewithal to babble a reply: “Only f-for you, my dearest.”

Therion had to stifle a giggle at that. He felt light-headed with a sudden rush of power, of being given this unbelievable free reign to ruin Cyrus as he saw fit. And Cyrus was _letting_ him - _wanted_ him to, even. 

The scholar’s every thought was of anticipation and love and sex, his mind near enough overwhelming Therion with swells of impatient desire at every light touch over his chest. His body language was as telling as his thoughts; he squirmed and writhed beneath Therion enough that he had to dig his knees into the mattress to keep balance, especially when Cyrus would buck his hips and whine when he met nothing but empty air.

“Okay then,” said Therion, “I’ll fuck you.”

* * *

Cyrus had always enjoyed silence. It was good for working, good for reading, good for enjoying one’s own thoughts in peace.

He was enjoying it now, too, for a very different reason. Without Therion in his head, without his sarcastic quips and shy little flickers of fondness and the constant roiling of his magic through Cyrus’s entire body, it was much quieter than he’d grown used to, and the sudden lack of input gave him opportunity to engage the senses he had begun to neglect when it came to Therion.

Sight was obviously out of the question, blindfolded as he was. He had to make do with imagining Therion's expressions, the effortless litheness with which he moved, and the way his skin flushed all over to leave him glowing and beautiful. (Which wasn't so bad, honestly, and so far Therion hadn't teased him about it.)

He had smelled Therion the moment he had leaned in for a kiss, sweetly perfumed with the expensive soaps and lotions he had taken a shine to. The kiss itself had been sweeter still, and the taste of Therion stuck fast to his tongue as he darted it out to lick at his dry lips.

The sound of fabric rustling came from Cyrus’s left, and he turned his head towards it automatically. A soft _fwump_ of clothes hitting the floor. Was Therion—?

“I bet you’d like to watch, hm?” Therion asked, voice lilting up into that very specific teasing tone he only used when they were alone. 

Cyrus swallowed. He was undressing. 

For the first time that night, Cyrus found himself wishing he wasn’t bound and blinded, so that he could draw Therion into his arms, kiss his honeyed skin, touch him—

 _Touch_ , Cyrus thought, so clear and obvious in his meaning that he knew Therion’s chuckle came in response to it. Therion had slid off the bed - off of _Cyrus_ \- to disrobe, and though the air in the room was warm it left a cold emptiness against Cyrus’s skin that only the heat of his precious little thief’s body could get rid of.

So when Therion climbed atop him again, when bare skin skimmed over his stomach as Therion settled directly over his still-clothed cock, Cyrus didn’t need a soulbond to know he was as naked as the day he was born.

Cyrus’s hips bucked into Therion as soon as he lowered his weight onto them, words like _Gods_ and _fuck_ and _Therion_ and _please_ flooding into his mind like the dam holding them back had burst.

Therion sniggered, but couldn’t help but indulge himself and grind down against Cyrus’s cock, blatantly rock hard and straining through the confines of his underwear. He let out a quiet groan as Cyrus whimpered at the tiniest amount of friction, and then he lifted himself off again before the temptation to let himself get carried away proved too strong. Cyrus whimpered again, for a different reason. Therion tutted.

“So impatient…” The mattress dipped slightly on either side as he walked himself on hands and knees up the length of Cyrus’s body to hover over his face. He leaned down, their lips just a smidge too far apart for Cyrus to be able to kiss him. “I thought you wanted me to _use you_?”

“I-I do,” Cyrus agreed, head bobbing frantically again as he nodded. (He was going to give himself whiplash if he wasn’t careful, Therion thought.) “I just— Gods, Therion, I’m afraid you’ll drive me to madness if you don’t do something, please—”

At that, Therion gave the extra few centimetres and pecked his lips against Cyrus’s. “I will, Cy, don’t worry.”

And then he was gone again, and Cyrus heard the sound of a drawer opening, and his heart rate skyrocketed.

* * *

Therion unscrewed the cap from the tub of lotion, and scooped a small amount out. It was faintly scented of something sweet (and faintly flavoured the same, he knew from experience). 

Replacing the tub back on the side table - for later - he perched on the side of the bed, scooting back far enough that he leaned lightly against Cyrus’s side. He felt him flinch at the contact before settling back into a shallow, excitable rhythm of breath, his head turning to look blindly in Therion’s direction.

Therion ignored him and glanced down at his cock. Though he was hard, and had been for a while now, he had been able to ignore it in favour of thinking of exactly what he wanted to do to Cyrus. But now, as he gently spread the lube over his length, he felt the tremors of pleasure begin to creep up from the soles of his feet, turning his legs shaky and settling with finality in that deep, dark part of him where his arousal lived when he wasn’t directing it at Cyrus. 

Soon though, he intended to direct it at Cyrus very hard.

He stayed like that for a few minutes, stroking himself absently, letting his mind wander among Cyrus’s and basking in the faint pleasure. His eyes fell closed as he tipped his head back and sighed, and he felt Cyrus shift behind him.

“Therion?” His voice held an edge of mania, and his mind spiked with a clear curiosity and the urge to be party to whatever Therion was doing to make him make a soft, pleased noise such as that.

“I’m here,” Therion said again, rousing from the slight trance he had fallen into. Cyrus softened at the reassurance, but when Therion moved to climb back atop him his anticipation pulled him taut again.

And when Therion angled his hips downward and pushed the swollen, lube-slick head of his cock against the centre of Cyrus’s chest, he flared so hot in response it was a wonder he didn’t set the bed on fire.

* * *

“Do you like that, Cyrus?” Therion asked, sliding his cock further up Cyrus’s chest, between the faint line of his pecs and then back to the base of his sternum. The lube made it easy, helped by the dribbles of precum Therion was already leaking, leaving Cyrus’s skin a shiny, sticky mess. “Me using you to get off like this?”

Cyrus’s mind screamed that he liked being used for a pathetic excuse of a titjob very much, though all he could seem to manage beyond that was yet another emphatic nod. Therion swallowed around a grin and pressed forward again, feeling his lover tremble underneath him.

He settled into a slow rhythm, falling back to that quiet mindspace filled with nothing but his own lazy pleasure and the small, desperate spikes of Cyrus’s filling the gaps in between. 

He couldn’t decide where to look: Cyrus’s lips, hanging open as he huffed small breaths; the tense line of his neck and shoulders, coiled like a spring despite his enjoyment at being tied up; or the obscene, slick mess Therion was making of his chest as he grinded against it.

On one slow thrust, Therion kept going, his balls dragging up Cyrus’s chest as he pressed the tip of his cock against his bound lover’s chin. Cyrus flinched, but then _opened his mouth_ , and Therion had to take a steadying breath to stop himself almost coming on the spot at the sheer sight of it.

“Good,” he breathed, enjoying the swell of happiness Cyrus felt at the praise. (And also enjoying how much Cyrus wanted to suck his cock.)

He pressed forward even further, the head of his cock sliding against Cyrus’s bottom lip, leaving a glossy smear of pre in its wake, and then into his mouth completely to sit against his waiting tongue. He closed his lips around the shaft obediently, and Gods, Therion adored him.

Therion took his time with this as well, fucking lazily into Cyrus’s mouth with a hand curled in his hair to keep his head still. Even lying back and taking it, Cyrus was soft and careful with his mouth, licking gently at the underside of Therion’s cock in the way he knew he liked.

“How is it?” Therion asked, and even to his own ears his voice sounded a million miles away.

 _Good_ and _sweet_ and _more_ and _deeper_ filtered into his head bit by bit through Cyrus’s stuttering concentration, and he giggled.

He massaged his fingers against Cyrus’s scalp, and was rewarded with him pressing his head a little harder against his palm and making a quiet, contented noise like being tied up and having Therion’s cock in his mouth was the epitome of happiness for him.

“You want more?” Therion asked, voice sweetly teasing.

Cyrus couldn’t nod this time, and obviously couldn’t speak, but his answer was nonetheless clear with the explosion of excited agreement that detonated in Therion’s head. Therion smiled and just shoved his cock deeper in response.

Watching Cyrus swallow even more of him was like a punch to the gut, stealing nearly all the breath from Therion as he felt his cock slide ever closer to the back of that hot, wanting mouth. He felt Cyrus tense even more, heard the hard way he exhaled through his nose, saw the contortion of his face beneath the blindfold - he would have mistaken it for discomfort had he not been able to sense just how aroused Cyrus was as he took another inch of Therion’s cock, and then another, and then—

He gagged, his throat convulsing and tightening around the head of Therion’s cock, and Therion groaned deep and low and had to fight the urge to thrust even further forward with every fibre of his being. Instead he pulled back to let Cyrus cough, his cock sliding free with a wet pop. A trail of saliva hung from Cyrus’s lips as he hacked, and Therion wiped it away with a gentle touch, stroking his fingers through Cyrus’s hair where he still cradled his head.

“Good,” he soothed. “Gods, you’re so fucking good, Cyrus.”

As his convulsing calmed, Therion again felt the small hum of Cyrus’s happiness at the edge of his thoughts. There were twin wet patches against the blindfold where the coughing fit had obviously made his eyes water, and Therion leaned in and left a chaste kiss over each of them. Cyrus nosed upwards, looking for a kiss proper, and Therion indulged him, tasting the lingering strange sweet flavour of the lube off his lips.

When he slid off the bed again, he noticed there was a wet patch against Cyrus’s underwear too.

* * *

Therion paced the length of the bed slowly, running the fingers of one hand over Cyrus’s skin gently as he went. First: massaging gently at one of his tied wrists, and then down that arm and along the taut line of his shoulder to brush past his jaw. From there, across his chest through the mess Therion had left there, drawing it onto his stomach where Cyrus squirmed at the touch, just light enough to tickle and just close enough to his cock to make him buck his hips. Therion ignored what he obviously wanted to stroke across his hip instead and then onto his thigh, venturing inwards enough that Cyrus spread his legs, shameless and immediate. 

Then Therion stopped touching him altogether, and the whine he let out was just as shameless.

His mind strained as much as his arms did againt his restraints, his body and soul both twisting and reaching out for Therion.

 _Therion,_ he thought, and even the tempo of the voice in his head was shaky. He wanted touch - he wanted Therion’s touch - and he looked so inviting all trussed up and breathing heavily that it was hard for Therion to turn away.

It was easier when he was turning away to grab the lotion again, though.

* * *

This time, he settled in between Cyrus’s spread legs, nudging them further apart so he could make himself comfortable to lie on his stomach, with the perfect view of Cyrus’s clothed erection right before his face. (As comfortable as he could be anyway, with his own cock pressed between his stomach and the bed.)

Cyrus felt the mattress dip, felt Therion push his knees wider, and gave an excited whimper. His hips grinded against empty air. Therion slid his hand up one of Cyrus’s thighs to settle him, guiding it close enough to his face that he could mouth at the sensitive skin there.

“Easy,” he murmured, but his quiet voice was lost among the endless little sounds pouring from Cyrus’s lips. His muscles were tense under Therion’s touch, his leg trembling with barely contained energy that Therion couldn’t dissipate by feeding him thoughts of relaxation and softness as he normally would. 

It was sweet, how easily he wound up.

Therion scraped his teeth over Cyrus’s inner thigh and was rewarded with him jerking on his bonds and pressing his legs together, sandwiching Therion’s head between them. (It wasn’t terrible, if he was honest.) He gently nosed them apart again and with a final squeeze, let go of Cyrus’s leg. He watched with amused wonder as it fell easily to the side, as if Cyrus had no energy to keep it bent upright now that it was no longer being supported for him.

With both hands free, Therion could now hook his fingers in the waistband of Cyrus’s underwear, tugging just enough to lift the elastic up off his skin. Cyrus sucked in a breath so fast he nearly choked on it.

“Still okay?” Therion asked. When Cyrus nodded, his mouth hanging open on words he couldn’t seem to be able to form but that his mind was having no trouble with - _yes, please, Therion, I want it I need it I love you please Gods_ \- Therion smiled. “Then lift your hips, beautiful.”

Cyrus obliged instantly, digging his heels into the mattress to elevate his hips enough that Therion could tug his underclothes down to his mid-thighs in one movement. His cock sprung free, the tip already wet with pre and flushed with arousal, but Therion ignored it for a moment while he manoeuvred Cyrus’s long legs again to get his underwear off and out of the way altogether.

Finally, he rearranged himself back between Cyrus’s thighs, leaning up on his elbows, and when Therion casually curled his fingers around the base of Cyrus’s cock he almost sprung off the bed altogether.

“A-Ah, Therion…” His hips bucked in small, stuttering spurts, seeking gratification over any sort of rhythm, and when Therion probed into his head he could find no trace of coherent thought whatsoever. Cyrus wasn’t thinking of anything except how good Therion’s hand felt, and how he wanted more, all illustrated with an obscene array of mental imagery that made even Therion blush.

“Filthy,” he chided, hoping the waver in his voice would go unnoticed. He needn’t have worried, since his lover seemed preoccupied with trying to fuck into his hand the best he could. Therion himself only gripped Cyrus’s cock lazily, barely moving his wrist, content to let Cyrus do all the work to chase his pleasure for the moment. “What would people say if they could see into your head the way I can? If they knew what sweet little Professor Albright was _really_ like behind closed doors, hm?” With his free hand, Therion pushed at Cyrus’s hip, urging him to settle. He did, but his thighs trembled with the effort of stillness. “On your back like a _whore_ ,” and Cyrus gasped, “tied up and begging to be ruined by—”

“My...thief,” Cyrus finished for him. “My r-runelord.” _Stole my heart and enchanted it._ “My Therion.”

“Yours,” Therion agreed, and fought the giddy smile on his face as much as he fought to stay above the thick waves of adoration that buffeted him. He leaned in and pressed a single, chaste kiss against the tip of Cyrus’s cock.

Cyrus’s hips rocked upwards instantly to try and breach Therion’s mouth, temptation and arousal stronger than the gentle pressure on his hip, but Therion was ready. He pulled away with ease so that Cyrus met nothing but air once more, groaning with frustration, wriggling with impatience.

Therion tutted. “That’s not going to work. I get to do what I want with _you_ , remember?” He gave a slight squeeze to the base of Cyrus’s cock, and coupled with the low timbre of his question it was almost threatening. Cyrus stilled. “And for that, I’ve decided not to touch you anymore.” 

He let go, scraping one nail along a vein on the underside of Cyrus’s shaft for good measure before he folded his arms underneath his chest, now no longer touching Cyrus at all. Cyrus’s legs came in again, one pressing against each of Therion’s shoulders, desperate for any sort of contact as he gyrated his hips in a pathetic circle. Therion heard the whine start in Cyrus’s throat, but cut off both his voice and his thoughts with his next words:

“You’re gonna come from nothing but my cock.”

* * *

Though he did steadfastly ignore Cyrus’s cock after that, bobbing and leaking between his legs, Therion’s promise to no longer touch him wasn’t entirely founded.

He couldn’t very well fuck him without preparing him, after all.

Cyrus shuddered from his head to his toes when Therion rubbed a chilled, lube-slicked finger against his hole, light and teasing.

“Spread your legs,” came the order, and Cyrus followed it, his knees falling wide apart.

It was tempting to bask in the moment, with his touch just skirting the rim of Cyrus’s entrance, and so Therion did. 

He looked up the length of his lover, from his trembling thighs to how tense he held his stomach, all the way up past the strain in his neck to keep his head up and pointed towards Therion, his shining lips, to the tips of his fingers, scrunched into useless fists as he pressed his nails into his palms.

Therion swept his eyes back down again, settling on Cyrus’s cock for a moment before going further, back down to where he massaged his entrance with a cruelly delicate touch. Cyrus tried to grind down, desperate to force those fingers inside him, but Therion kept pulling back at the last second, ensuring he would feel nothing but the flutter of dainty fingertips over his rim.

“P-Please, Therion,” he started again, and it was then that Therion pushed the first finger in, gracelessly and without warning.

Cyrus _yelped_ , his back arching off the bed with what Therion could tell was more surprise than arousal. It brought an impudent smirk to his face.

It brought an even more impudent question to his lips. “Is something wrong, Cyrus?” He pressed in further, all the way to the knuckle with this second movement, stroking deftly inside Cyrus. “Did you not expect that?”

Cyrus could do nothing but babble senselessly in reply, head tilting back and to the side to press into the pillow. Therion had to push up further on his elbow to get a proper view of his pretty face, flushed and contorted. If he couldn’t see into his head, he would have worried the action spawned from displeasure.

But he could, so he knew that wasn’t the case at all.

Cyrus was wound tighter than Therion had seen him in a long time - perhaps ever. He was hopelessly, wonderfully aroused, and even now Therion could barely hold it together with the second-hand excitement leaking from his lover and tugging at every inch of him, urging him to mark and claim and use Cyrus for his own pleasure. 

Which would have been a terrifying thought, if it wasn’t exactly what Cyrus wanted.

(It had been strange at first, to slowly uncover and pick apart the near-virginal scholar’s secret kinks; to find out his private thrill at the potential of being caught in the act, or his unmistakable lust for Therion wearing nothing but one of his old shirts that were several sizes too big for the petite thief, or this fairly new development - to be put on his back and dicked down so thoroughly that he was left a shaking, crying mess. 

Therion sometimes wondered how many of these fantasies he had been responsible for awakening. In quiet moments of smugness, he thought perhaps most of them.)

Cyrus made a particularly lovely breathy noise, his hips settling back onto the bed, and Therion pushed in another finger.

He reacted less violently this time, giving nothing but a small flinch, a soft moan and a spike of undisguised want that travelled straight to Therion’s dick. (He swallowed his own groan and pressed his hips into the mattress.)

Therion stroked into Cyrus with a practised rhythm, gently scissoring his fingers to open him up nicely and watching as his legs stretched open even further with every press forward. His head was pressed firmly back against the pillow now, and his chest heaved with every shallow, noisy breath he took, punctuated with squeaks and gasps and sighs of utter contentment. 

He liked this, being spread wide and touched carefully, methodically. It was how Cyrus liked to prepare Therion, too, so Therion usually returned the action in kind and took his time until he felt the tension drain out of Cyrus to leave him loose and relaxed and hopelessly sweet.

 _Usually_.

Therion pressed the third finger in with a vigor that stuttered both of their breaths at the same time. Determined, he sucked in a gulp of air, pistoned his wrist forward and curled his fingers in a very specific way, and Cyrus almost _howled_. 

His entire upper body bent forward—or tried to, but restrained as he was he didn’t get very far. Therion very much enjoyed how the bed rattled off the wall when Cyrus pulled at his bonds only to be yanked backwards again, slingshotted back into the pillows supporting him.

He had _liked_ that.

“Good?” Therion asked anyway, punctuating the question with another flex of his fingers that had Cyrus groaning. A flurry of _good_ s filtered rapidly into his head in response. “You want more?” Frantic, spasmic nodding, _yes_ repeated like a mantra until he caught one of Cyrus’s thighs with his free hand and kissed along it, muttering soft shushes into the skin. 

He stroked gentler now, still mouthing at Cyrus’s thigh, quietly marvelling at how the tension in his body softened and went pliant bit by bit until he stopped clenching unrelentingly around Therion’s fingers, letting him probe deeper, pulling another melody of little sighs from his lover’s lips.

And then his fingers were gone, and the teeth scraping along Cyrus’s thigh were gone, and the hand that had been propping his leg up were gone, and Cyrus was left to voice his complaints in a whine (he was getting a little impatient, now) as he felt the mattress shift and dip differently.

* * *

Therion scooped yet more lotion onto his already slick fingers, and once more the artificially sweet scent rose into the stuffy air. He raised himself up onto his knees, still between Cyrus’s legs, and he felt the pangs of disorientated, lust-tinged confusion directed his way. He placed his clean hand on Cyrus’s knee.

“I’m here,” he said. Cyrus’s thoughts mellowed, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Therion smiled back, giving a quick squeeze to his knee and indulging himself in one last sweep of his eyes up the length of Cyrus’s body. 

His gaze lingered for a long moment on Cyrus’s cock, thick and erect and still beading with precum. His mouth watered.

But he forced himself to look away, turning his eyes downward to his own cock...which wasn’t faring much better. It twitched in his grasp as he wrapped his cool, lubed fingers around it, even such a small amount of pressure feeling like a heavenly reprieve from the suddenly immense, crushing arousal that tugged hot and deep inside him. He knew at least half of it was coming from Cyrus and how tight his nerves were, how the feelings conducted like electricity between them, zipping white hot along the wire that bound them to make their souls sing out in the most intimate of duets. 

But it wasn’t _all_ Cyrus’s. 

Therion could easily pick out his own feelings among the mess of desires: the greedy want, the smug selfishness at having Cyrus spread out so prettily before him...those were all his, and he was thankful Cyrus wasn’t privy to how much they felt like they were consuming him.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

* * *

He spread the lotion over his cock, hissing quietly at the chill touch of his fingers over the engorged flesh, and then in a startling display of his body moving faster than his brain could keep up he was nudging the tip against Cyrus’s hole. 

He pressed forward teasingly, not quite enough to push past the tight muscle but certainly enough for Cyrus to feel it if the carnal desperation that shot through him like a red hot poker was any indication.

They moaned at the same time.

“Y-You ready?” Therion almost cursed his faltering voice for giving away his impatience, but he had a feeling Cyrus could tell, soulbond or no. “You still want me to fuck you?” Agreement richocheted around his skull hard enough to make him wince. “ _Words_ , Cy.”

“Please,” Cyrus _keened_ , and it went straight to Therion’s dick. “M-More than anything.”

The fact that he meant it, the fact that his head held nothing but his all-encompassing desire to be fucked into the mattress and filled with Therion’s cum was what had Therion groaning deep and low in his throat as he nudged his hips forward. 

Cyrus’s legs spread wider, dangling in midair as he opened perfectly for Therion to sink into him.

He was tight, he was hot, he was amazing and perfect and all the flowery adjectives he usually reserved for when he had Therion underneath him, and it was easy to see now why he used them, because there was no better way to describe the vision of Therion’s cock so eagerly being swallowed by Cyrus’s wanting body than _perfect_. 

Every inch was better than the one before, searing heat running the length of Therion’s legs and settling into his very core. He leaned forward as he settled further inside, bracing a hand on either side of Cyrus’s torso as he brought himself nearer his lover, so that even if Cyrus couldn’t feel his bond he’d be able to feel his body heat and hear his quick, panting breaths.

Cyrus himself was taut as a bowstring, mouth hanging open in a silent cry though his mind was anything but. He was practically screaming out with feeling: sensation and desire and love and _relief_ , relief at finally being filled to the brim with cock. He tugged uselessly at his wrist bindings, and for a moment Therion almost wanted to untie him and let his arms envelop him to tug him impossibly, intimately close.

But that would mean pulling out again, and he really didn’t want to do that.

* * *

“Is this what you wanted?” Therion’s voice was a breathy rumble close to Cyrus’s ear that made him jump, but when he turned his head, butting forward blindly, Therion was already gone again, chuckling at him from the opposite side. He was everywhere and nowhere, Cyrus was full of him and yet empty without being able to touch him - or sense him - and the strange juxtaposition left his stomach doing nervous, excited flips. 

He didn’t know what Therion planned to do next. Would he fuck him slow, drawing it out until Cyrus was a wailing, begging mess beneath him? Or would he pound him mercilessly to leave him wonderfully sore and his throat raw from crying out? What did he even want Therion to do?

“What _do_ you want me to do?” Therion asked, the words ghosting hot across Cyrus’s lips. He jumped again, jerking his head away in surprise. He was rewarded with Therion laughing again and the barely there grind of his hips, pushing his cock in deeper. “I can still hear you, remember. I can see _all_ the things you want me to do to you.”

Cyrus very badly wanted Therion to call him a slut again. He wanted it _loudly_ , but Therion ignored him to instead push teeth and tongue against his neck and bite, drawing the skin into his mouth to suck it cherry red. 

He rolled his hips in a rough approximation of a circle, pushing against the way Cyrus clenched around him and forcing him looser. Cyrus bucked his hips in response, the sticky head of his cock sliding against Therion’s stomach and sending small tingling spasms of pleasure through his tight muscles.

Therion said again, teeth still temptingly sharp against the new love bite adorning Cyrus’s throat, “What do you want, Cyrus? Tell me.”

He angled his hips forward and pushed again and again, grinding deep and incessant into Cyrus, and received in reply a stuttering intake of breath and a shudder through the whole of Cyrus’s body.

“F-Fuck,” Cyrus swore, which was a novelty as much as it was half of his answer, “—me, fuck me, Therion, please, Gods—”

Therion’s smile was utterly feral even as he nosed gently at Cyrus’s jaw. “I will,” was as much a threat as it was a promise, but with how it made Cyrus clamp down tighter around him it didn’t seem to matter either way.

And then he was gone again, peeling away from Cyrus’s chest and leaving him clammy and hot. He didn’t go far though - even without his half of the soulbond, Cyrus could feel Therion hovering above him, body heat seeping outwards to singe the edges of his skin even further and breath coming in heavy, restrained pants. 

And of course, his cock, sitting heavy and hotter than anything else inside Cyrus.

Therion could feel a lot more than that, though. He could feel the thud of Cyrus’s heartbeat thundering in his own chest, the heady rush of blood and magic through their joined bodies. Cyrus’s mind was a hurricane, billowing and uncontrolled: fragments of half-formed thoughts popped up and disappeared in the same instant, blustered away and replaced by bright white flashes and feelings that he had forgotten how to describe except as _good_ and _more_. Therion’s muscles were alight with tight pain because Cyrus’s were, his neck and shoulders and stomach and legs and _everywhere_ coiled with restrained energy, a waiting flood behind a crumbling dam that Therion fully intended to destroy.

“Want me to make you cry?” he whispered, and felt Cyrus’s thoughts quieten for a brief moment as he reached the eye of the storm, the question overwhelming in its obvious, filthy implication.

It passed nearly immediately, and then the resounding agreement came in a deafening gale, reaching so far into Therion’s core it almost suffocated him. His cock throbbed deep inside Cyrus, and Cyrus’s throbbed right back, still pushed flush against his stomach.

Therion pulled his hips back slowly, sliding out of Cyrus with a painstaking slowness all the way to the tip.

His teeth buried hard in his bottom lip, Cyrus nodded assent to a question Therion hadn’t asked. At least, not out loud.

Therion snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt again in one fluid motion. Cyrus moaned, loud and unashamed, bringing his hips up a little too late to meet the action. His head tipped back, exposing his neck, and Therion took him up on his offer, biting down as he thrust again. He quickly made a rhythm of it, slamming into Cyrus over and over and marvelling in how he opened up to take it, his hips jumping erratically like he only half-remembered to try and meet Therion’s thrusts. (Which wasn’t entirely wrong, with how his thoughts were like tiny currents lost in surges of carnal pleasure that swarmed his entire mind.)

 _Harder_ , came an unusually coherent thought. It made Therion smirk, his lips curving against the necklace of hickeys he was marking across his lover’s throat. Cyrus had long since lost the ability to form words (and his voice was sure to be raw later from how noisy he was being), but if he could muster up enough brainpower to think an actual, complete word loud enough that it could be heard over the endless hot crackling of the fire that was slowly consuming him, then Therion clearly wasn’t doing a good enough job.

 _You got it,_ he thought back, utterly delighted that Cyrus couldn’t sense the smug little smile on his face.

He sat up, pulling out of Cyrus altogether to readjust himself. Cyrus - naturally - made a sound of such utter despondency that it was almost painful in how it tugged on Therion’s soul, begging _come back_ and _be close_ and _ruin me_. Therion ignored it and kneeled back between Cyrus’s legs. 

He braced a hand on each of Cyrus’s thighs, running his palms across the supple skin in what he had meant as a soothing motion, but that just made his legs tremble harder and spread obscenely, drawing Therion’s gaze to his twitching, puckered hole, still smeared and shining with lube. Therion swallowed.

He slid his hands up to cup the underside of Cyrus’s knees and pushed forward, gentle at first, and then harder when he didn’t take the hint. At the added pressure he went willingly, letting himself be all but folded in half. Had his hands been free, he’d have surely held his own legs up, but as it was Therion had to make do with manoeuvring his lanky limbs into place.

When he was satisfied that he wasn’t about to be kicked in the face - though in all honesty he wasn’t sure that would even be enough to ruin the mood - Therion canted his hips forward to once more press his tip against Cyrus’s entrance. Cyrus made that nice breathy noise again, and when Therion let his gaze travel up to settle on Cyrus’s cock it twitched as if in response, another drool of precum beading across the head that Therion had half a mind to bend down and lick away.

But he’d said he wouldn’t touch, that he’d make Cyrus come from being fucked alone, and by the Twelve he intended to keep his word.

Bracing himself with his hold on Cyrus’s thighs, Therion shoved in hard, and Cyrus opened to take it so easy it was like he had never stopped fucking him.

“ _Ah_ ,” Cyrus said, and that simple sound was enough for Therion to glean that the angle was different now, that it was _better_ , and that Cyrus probably wouldn’t last long if he kept fucking him at the pace he’d been going at before.

He drew back and thrust in, and he knew he had hit Cyrus’s prostate with how his legs jerked and his toes curled. He hit it again, and his back curved into a beautiful arch. A third time and his mind exploded into nothingness and everythingness at once, blank yet full of sound, empty whiteness yet a rainbow of throbbing colours. 

Therion felt a heavy heat in his gut that drove him forward again and again, until the sweat on his back and the sound of skin meeting skin was gone from his awareness, until all he could see and feel and hear was Cyrus. He breathed him in, tasted him, and saw his stunning form long after his eyes fell shut like it was branded onto his mind.

* * *

It didn’t take long. 

Therion knew Cyrus was teetering on the brink, felt his orgasm building fast probably before Cyrus himself did. He seemed to expect the moment it crested, whereas Cyrus was overwhelmed by it, so used to reflecting and taking cues from Therion’s arousal to come simultaneously with him. But now he was alone in his ecstasy, coming loudly and untouched as promised. Flecks of his spend spurted messily up and down his stomach, some landing impressively close to the tacky mess of lube still on his chest, and Therion had the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach down and smear it over Cyrus’s skin to dirty him further. For once, he couldn’t tell whether the thought was his or Cyrus’s.

As he came, stomach muscles flexing, Cyrus yanked so hard on his restraints Therion felt the burn of the fabric on his own wrists. It didn’t slow his pace though, still pushing hard against Cyrus’s legs for leverage to plow deeper into him even though he had gone tighter with orgasm, clenching around Therion’s cock so hard it was almost painful to move. 

He had to bite his lip hard enough to taste blood to stop himself following Cyrus into climax, trying his hardest to focus on the feeling of cramp in his legs rather than the temptation to let go and be pulled under.

He couldn’t, yet - Cyrus still wasn’t crying, after all.

* * *

After a long minute, Cyrus’s mind went from a hundred back to zero, white noise and static, and his tense body went limp and soft in all of Therion’s favourite ways that usually meant post-sex cuddles. This time though, it meant something completely different, as Cyrus found out when he went slack enough around Therion to let him move with ease again, and he _kept going_. 

He pounded into Cyrus with a ferocity that belied his dainty frame, his relentless movements made easy with the slickness of lube and pre and fucked-out looseness.

It was a lot. It was almost too much, not just for Cyrus but for the both of them, as the closer Therion got to his own climax the more his grip on control slipped, and the more of Cyrus’s feelings he let in. Suddenly he had tremors in his entire body, his rhythm turning halting and clumsy as waves and waves of pure sensation stabbed again and again at a ticklish, sensitive spot inside him, going so far beyond pleasure that it almost doubled back into pain.

He could still feel Cyrus’s desire to be free of his bonds, but different now - confused, desperate to either pull Therion close to hold him or push him away before he was driven mad by the push ever further into overstimulation.

But he couldn’t stop, not even when the corners of his mind started to turn hazy, not until—

“Th-Therion,” Cyrus whimpered, voice small and raw and teary, and Therion’s fragile hold on himself gave way altogether.

He rocketed his hips forward one final time, grinding deep and determined, and his cock throbbed as he emptied himself inside Cyrus with a low, long moan. 

Cyrus slammed his head back into the pillows, whimpering and weakly pulling at his restraints. The instinctiveness to get away from the feeling that had rubbed his sensitive insides raw with pleasure battled with his reflex to be as close to and full of Therion as possible; in this culmination of climaxes they met in the middle to leave him a shivering, moaning, _sobbing_ mess.

As his orgasm ebbed away, Therion looked with bleary eyes at Cyrus’s face. The wet patches on the blindfold were more pronounced now, and some tears had even escaped their confines to run shimmering tracks down his ruddy cheeks. Half-sobs burbled and hiccupped from his inexplicably smiling lips, and Therion’s heart swelled with a just as inexplicable fondness. 

He didn’t know who was the most peculiar one in this relationship: Cyrus, for wanting to be tied up and deprived of their soulbond and fucked so hard he cried, or Therion himself, for finding it endearing to look upon the sight of his betrothed fucked out and filled with come and _smiling_ about it. 

_Maybe it’s both of us_ , he thought. He ran a gentle hand along Cyrus’s thigh. _Probably_.

* * *

The blindfold fell away from Cyrus’s face and he opened his eyes slowly. Blinking against the dim light, unshed tears dangled on the precipice of his eyelashes before being swept down the banks of his cheeks. He sniffed.

Immediately, fingers brushed over his face, delicate and loving in their touch. He leaned into it, feeling thumbs swipe the tears away.

“You okay?” Therion’s voice was subdued, like he was suddenly conscious of the immense silence of the room now that it was no longer filled with sounds of their lovemaking.

Cyrus nodded, blinking some more. Therion’s shape became clearer as his eyes adjusted; his love illuminated, painted in the warm hues of the lantern light.

“Good.” And then quieter, Therion’s voice came again, not from his lips but from that small, ever-present echo in his head, _Can you hear me?_

 _I can_ , Cyrus answered, and sensed immediately some tension that had nothing to do with arousal disappearing from Therion. _I can hear you_.

* * *

The bonds at his wrists were next to go, and Cyrus barely stopped to rub at the reddened skin before he was pulling Therion into his arms, delighting at the way he curled against him.

With no need to act the part of arrogant dominance any longer, Therion cast it aside altogether to nuzzle into Cyrus’s neck and kiss along the trail of love bites he had left. This was much truer to his nature, to be sated and cuddly after sex, and part of Cyrus enjoyed it far more than the act itself.

 _Hey._ Therion looked up, pouting. “You don’t have to word it like that.”

Cyrus chuckled fondly at the dramatic downturn of his lips, but when he bent his head in Therion obliged anyway, letting him lick gently into his mouth and melting into his embrace a little more with every sweep of his tongue.

When they parted, Therion looked adorably entranced, his eyes soft and dark and his lips shining red. Cyrus bumped their foreheads together. “You know as well as I do that I enjoyed that immensely. In fact, I’m still not sure I can feel my legs.”

Therion seemed to return to himself at that, a sudden bolt of concern forcing focus into his thoughts. “Wait, really?” He wrangled himself out of Cyrus’s hold, sitting up and eyeing his legs with an obvious worry.

“I’m only kidding, Therion.” Cyrus couldn’t help his grin as he sat up too - noting with a strange sort of satisfaction the ache in his lower back as he did - and slid his fingers into Therion’s hair. “You truly must be exhausted if you’re falling prey to my terrible sense of humour.”

Therion’s cheeks darkened as he prickled with badly concealed embarrassment. “Shut up, I was just…” _Worried I’d hurt you._

 _You could never, my love._ Cyrus pressed a kiss to his temple, and Therion huffed in (mostly) fake annoyance. “Although you did bend my legs up rather far. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve pulled something. I’m not as young or as flexible as you, you know.”

Therion rolled his eyes and squirmed as Cyrus’s hand slid from his hair and down his back, dancing ticklish touches along his spine that had him scrambling to safety and shooting a glare over his shoulder.

He flung himself down at the bottom of the bed, comfortably out of range, and swung his arm off the side and underneath, his head tilting and his tongue peeking out between his lips as he felt around for something. After a moment, he brightened with clear triumph that had Cyrus stifling a laugh and produced his prize: a box of tissues.

“We should clean up a little,” he announced, shifting back into a sitting position and crossing his legs.

“We could run a bath,” Cyrus suggested, watching rapt as Therion grabbed a handful of tissue and began wiping the tacky remnants of lotion from his fingers and his cock. “Wash off properly.” He imagined hot water, and Therion sinking bonelessly into his arms. Another time, his words and thoughts might have been laced with implication, but the two of them were tired, all the lust gone out of them for now. He just really wanted to hold his fiancé.

“Maybe in a while,” Therion half-agreed. Cyrus gleaned from the shy shift in his thoughts that Therion also just really wanted to be held, but in a way that didn’t involve either of them moving too much or waiting for a tub to fill.

Suitably clean...enough, Therion turned his attention to Cyrus again, who obediently lay back against the pillows without prompting. When he spread his legs this time it was only to let himself be cleaned up, but it still gave Therion pause to look upon his hole, fucked loose and pink and dribbling come, and his softening cock above hanging spent and limp. 

_He’d_ done that, he thought, feeling tingly.

 _Therion,_ Cyrus nudged, snapping him out of it and flaring heat into his cheeks again. He looked at Cyrus’s face again, but the silly, fond smile he saw there only flustered him more.

 _Shut up,_ he thought pointedly and hefted another fistful of tissues.

* * *

When Cyrus was mostly clean - the mess Therion had made on his chest had almost completely dried, and he’d already rubbed the skin pink trying to wipe it off, to no avail - Therion chucked the dirty tissues into a pile on the floor, ignoring Cyrus’s small mental gripe about it, and tucked himself in close to his lover again. 

This time, he took both of Cyrus’s hands and held them in the scant space between their bodies, gliding his grip up to his wrists to massage gently. The fabric he’d bound Cyrus with hadn’t been rough, much like the blindfold, but with how he’d tugged at his restraints it had left his skin a little sore and sensitive, and the joints beneath aching with the force he’d tried to exert.

Cyrus hummed contentedly as Therion’s thumbs rubbed circles around his pulse point. He let himself sink into the veritable mountain of pillows he had been propped up on, lethargy catching up and pulling his eyes closed. “Thank you for agreeing to this,” he mumbled.

“You said that before,” Therion replied.

“I know, and I’m saying it again. You are far too good to me, dearest heart. I do not know what I did to deserve you.”

“Me neither.” The false bravado hung obvious in the air, blustering to cover his self-consciousness. He squeezed Cyrus’s wrists. “I think Aeber took pity on me and gave me an easy mark.”

“Oh, really?” Cyrus’s laugh was a soft thing, a puff of quiet air in the stuffy room. “Was I so simple to conquer?”

“You didn’t see how wide you spread your legs just now.”

That had both of them erupting into a fit of giggles. Cyrus pulled free of Therion’s touch to reach out and cup his face instead, finding him easily even with his eyes closed. Therion went more than willingly, and as their foreheads touched they felt the same, unmistakable surge of love spread over their naked bodies like a blanket.

“I love you,” Cyrus murmured. His lips brushed over Therion’s as he spoke. “I’m glad you enjoyed tonight as much as I did. We should do it again sometime...if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t,” was all Therion said before he pressed the final inch forward to claim Cyrus’s mouth. _I wouldn’t mind at all._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> if anyone is interested, the title comes from a quote by margaret atwood:  
> “Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth.”


End file.
